I don’t randomly find many reminders of Nebraska, so when I do, they make me cry.

I found this box in our attic when we moved. Now it’s full of Christmas decorations, but I can just imagine this box used to sit in my moms closet above the stairs, back in the top rack where Nathan and I couldn’t reach or see. Even as an adult who doesn’t live there anymore I still feel strange going into that area of the closet because I know it’s where presents are stored, and if you saw presents before Christmas there was no surprise. Neither Nathan or I ever hunted for presents around the house. We didn’t try and find where they were stashed or carefully unwrap them to see what we were getting before Christmas morning. We knew exactly where they were. We didn’t look because we wanted opening them on Christmas morning to be special.

My mom probably filled this box throughout the year. Finding toys that she thought we would like and hiding them until she felt like treating us. Seeing this box just reminds me of what a loving mother I have, who spoiled both of us rotten.

About 2 years ago, I ventured into something that I’m sure most people experience more than once in their life, (so I guess I should be grateful I only had endure a singular short period), a minimum wage job. The good ol’ days of my unemployment had to end sometime, and that sometime was the holiday season of 2011. It happened while I was out doing one of my typical shopping trips during the day, a very well planned loop through the outdoor ‘mall’ that we have that ended with a stop at TJ Maxx. Because it was getting close to the holidays there was a table at the front door with employment applications. As I’d already failed at finding any other job; I took one, applied, interviewed, did more clothes shopping, and ta-da I was at my first minimum wage job.

I had originally applied to work in the warehouse because those hours were from 7 to 10, and I was hoping to be on a similar schedule to J, but I guess showing up to the interview in a dress and heels made them think I was overly ambitious, and I got a job at the jewelry counter. Working in jewelry wasn’t all that bad. My favorite part was when a new box of inventory would come in and I’d get to go through all the new items. Or maybe my favorite part was marking things down for clearance and getting to be the first to see how cheap everything was going to be. Either way there were a lot of bad parts that I didn’t like. For example the late hours and standing on my feet all day (I nearly passed out on my first day. Seriously, green in the face. The woman that was training me bought me one of our overpriced water bottles to keep me from dying.)

What else sucked was that the jewelry department wasn’t actually just the jewelry counter. It also encompassed purses, hair supplies, lotions, shoes, and women’s intimates. Every day that I had to walk up and down the shoe aisles trying to match up random shoes, or trying to make them fit onto the little shelves, I hated my life a little more. As I was crawling around on my knees trying to find if the other blue flat that had disappeared under a shelf all I could think was “$25,000 in student loans… college degree…. and I’m matching shoes.”

I learned a lot about retail during that time (since I knew zip before), like how to set up displays. The first display I did had some jewelry stands and hats in it. They loved it. Went crazy for it. Told me how amazing it was. Me, being overly filled with self confidence, was beaming at how I was owning this retail thing. The next display I did involved some sets of pajamas. I basically just needed to stack them up against the wall. Done, easy, I mean I’m the master of jewelry stands. That’s when I learned about this totally ridiculous rule of retail; color organizing. Now I like organization above most things, but the system of retail color organization was so completely arbitrary to me I struggled with it. There was a specific rainbow order, that was not ROYGBIV, that had to be followed. But did it go down the rack or across the rows? How did patterns factor in? If you went around a table did you follow the same rules? The questions were endless and their answers were unsatisfactory.

I quit 2 months later. Normally when I think back to this time I assume it was closer to 3 or 4 months, but really, I quit in the beginning on January when I started my (current) “real-life” job. The torture of shoes, retail rainbows, and having to work for 3 weeks to even afford the cheap jewelry we were selling, seems to have stretched out those 2 months into an extensive period of torturous time.

I then got the ‘real’ job, worked 2 weeks and made more money than I did the whole 2 months in retail. I’m not saying money is happiness. But when you’re making twice as much and you’re not possibly passing out from standing all day, then yes, that money is happiness.

It feels like it’s been awhile since I’ve had a free weekend with no plans and I can spend some time at home. I looked, and the first free Saturday I had in 2013 was March 30th! I’ll have 18 free Saturday’s this year (most obviously after March) which out of 52, isn’t very many. Working 2 out of every 3 weekends is hard, but what’s worse is finding the motivation to do something at home when I do have the time. Once I’m finally not working I just want to be lazy at home. I don’t feel like I got much done this weekend because I’ve got a cold. I organized a little in my new craft room, but other than that I just lounged around with the kitties.

We’ve been living in our new house for about a month and half and I really thought we’d have more done by now. I know just a few weeks ago I was so excited about how much painting we’d accomplished, but I feel like once I stop the momentum of us getting stuff done, we end up doing nothing for a long time. I mostly feel this way because I saw this same cycle in the little house. I think I’m going to tackle painting the kitchen next, since that’s something I can do on my own. Moving in the furniture (that we don’t really have yet), and hanging stuff on the walls is something I’d really like help with since I’ve taken out my fair share of drywall with a nail and hammer. Of course this is all taking into consideration that next weekend I work, the weekend after that is J’s birthday, then it’s our last free weekend until our holiday break, where we’ll be in Nebraska. Too bad the kitties can’t hold a paint brush.

This morning something magical happened; we saw Kevin the Bunny in our driveway, or at least we saw some bunny. Kevin was a rabbit that sat in our driveway at the old house almost every day when we came home from work. At first we just commented, “Oh look, there’s a bunny in the trees!”. Then we saw him frequently and J decided to call him Kevin. Kevin has probably been around for 9 months, with sightings occurring often, and always in the driveway. When we moved, we both knew we’d miss seeing Kevin, and J threatened to trap him and take him with us.

But just like we knew GaterBait followed us to the new house when J lost his keys, Kevin has found his way to us as well. We spotted him running across the driveway this morning, looking a little disoriented, darting back and forth to get away from the car. J and I both yelled “KEVIN!” (I mostly yelled so J wouldn’t hit him.)

My fascination with yard pets definitely starts with a groundhog in college. While living in a rental house with 4 other girls we started spotting this animal in the back yard in the mornings. We’d only see it’s head poking out from under our garage, and not very often. It was exciting when you got to see him while you were eating your morning breakfast. Soon, probably due to a focus on him, we started spotting him more often, and he therefore needed a name. The rickety white shed that he was living under had spray paint on it… Doug.

The day Doug came all that way out of his hole and was seen in full form running across the yard a roommate came screaming and running up the stairs “I SAW DOUG OUTSIDE OF THE HOLE!”. It became a game to lure him out of the hole with possible treats; nuts, trail mix, raisins, fruits, anything we though a groundhog might eat. People told us that Doug was a nuisance and we should get rid of him, but it was a rental house and we didn’t care. Leaving Doug for a new apartment was hard, but I guess he was then replaced by Kevin the Bunny and Snorkel the calico kitty. I’ll just have to see what Kevin the Bunny is replaced by when he gets hit on the road since he’s disoriented from his trip over to the new house.

I am my mother’s daughter. I know this not because we share curly hair or are both short, but because the day after she left me in Alabama to go back home we both sent each other the same text.

“I’m moving to you.”

I’m moving to wherever I can be close to you, because I miss you. I feel alone now that you are gone. I hate that I won’t get to see you for a long time. I cried when you had to leave. I breathed in the clothes you brought me because they smelled like you and home. I physically ache because you are gone.

I am now counting down the days until I can see you again.

Today I am 25.

I think I’m now allowed to have my quarter life crisis, but I’m pretty sure I’ve been having dilemmas and catastrophes on and off my whole life and therefore should keep myself together. Plus, who can have a crisis when there’s beautiful fall weather outside? I love, love, love fall weather. And fall in the south is wonderful. As long as my birthday continues to be in October, I won’t have an age crisis.

I spent much of this weekend hiding in the closet… but since our new house has a huge master bedroom closet, it was a wonderful place to hang out! Along with laying flooring in the actual bedroom, J also put new hardwood in the closet. The fresh paint and new floor did wonders for the smell the previous owners left us. It looks good enough to live in, or at least good enough for all my favorite belongings (shoes) to live in. Within an hour I had moved all of my clothes into the closet and hung them up on our custom racks J made just for me. I love that they expand all the way across the room. I think we utilized the space well. During that same hour of my moving boxes and bags and piles of clothes, J very proudly added a pair of pants to his side, claiming his area.

My side vs his side

I am starting to feel extremely proud- J and I have painted a lot of rooms in our big house, and now laid new (Grade 1, how fancy are we?!) hardwood floors. Things are slowly starting to come into place. I allowed myself to unwrap one box marked “fragile”, while I knew had decorations and flower vases in it, to set up around the house. Just those few items made it look so nice!

In the 9th grade I had a writing teacher, who I loved, task us with writing an “I am from” entry. I remember writing things like “I am from a dancing kitchen, a dusty truck, a Joey in my pocket and 10.9’s”. They were all the things that described me at age 15. (Wow. I just realized, age 15, that was 10 years ago. I can’t believe I turn 25 this year) They still describe me, perfectly in fact, but I think the last 10 years deserves to be noted too.

At age 25 (that’s not old right?!?)

I am from… a plot of land that felt untouched- because as a child everything feels like it’s clean and pure.

I am from… Wildcat Country- where I learned to bleed blue with teammates who felt like family.

I am from… a break-up that lasted too long. Period.

I am from… a rental house with no hot water, little insulation, and a lot of fun, where I experienced the greatest girlfriend moments, that I miss much more than the house.

I am from… a long car ride to Colorado- that still brings tears to my eyes.

I am from… a summer of hotel living- where I could feel my life pivoting into a new stage.

I am from… a Mexico ghetto apartment that I wish I’d have enjoyed more at the time, and hadn’t focused so much on leaving.

I am from… “Button” and buttons everywhere.

I am from… a short hair cut- at which time the hair dresser said to me “You look like a fresh start”.

I am from… a blue wedding- a beautiful day in every way.

I am from… The South now (but not really) and don’t call me a Yankee.

I am from… a short stint in unemployment, or ‘the good ol’ days’, which actually sucked, but only less so than working in retail.

I am from… a little house with no closets, a remodeled kitchen, and a new paint color- things I thought I’d never miss, and am still trying not to.

I am from… GaterBait, Wally, Cheeto, Roxie… Kevin and Snorkel.

I am from… a lot of missing, and a place where everything seems very far away from where I want it to be.

I am from… a husband who loses his keys, but remembers to make coffee everyday that he doesn’t like to drink. A man who encourages me to do anything I want to, including write. The person who influences me to keep growing and changing even after everything feels settled into place.

I am from 2007-2013, and hopefully far beyond that.